<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Hand in Hand, We're Weary Eyed by woakiees</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171137">Hand in Hand, We're Weary Eyed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/woakiees/pseuds/woakiees'>woakiees</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Poe Dameron Needs A Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:35:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,146</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26171137</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/woakiees/pseuds/woakiees</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“So many times did he imagine walking you to your quarters at night, stealing a kiss when you least expected it. He’d thought about how you’d taste, whether or not you’d kiss him back or if you’d smack him hard across the cheek.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Poe Dameron/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hand in Hand, We're Weary Eyed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You ever smell something that reminds you of home?”</p><p>Your voice was soft, gentle, and Poe watched you with a fond smile playing at his lips as you plucked a dew soaked blade of grass from the ground, running it between your fingers, collecting the moisture and watching it slide down your palm.</p><p>He knew exactly what you meant, of course. Dirt, rain, freshly brewed caf — they were all scents that never failed to bring him home, always put him straight back on Yavin no matter how far he wandered. Back to when he was just a small boy with no concept of fighting and war, before his hands had been painted red by heartache and murder. Before everything changed, when he still had his innocence and his mother’s hand running through his soft curls instead of the heavy weight of an abandoned ring around his neck.</p><p>Poe knew exactly what you meant, but he could listen to your sweet voice for hours, could never imagine growing tired of hearing you speak.</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>You pursed your lips, and Poe had to resist the urge to lean forward and kiss you, taste you. He wanted to, so badly, but it wasn’t the right time. Was never the right time.</p><p>“Like-” You hesitated, inhaling deeply, the crease between your brows relaxing.</p><p>Poe had never seen you so at peace before, so calm and still. Serenity looked good on you, and watching you brought a sense of comfort to his chest — a warmth that fluttered through his veins and deep into the pit of his stomach.</p><p>Butterflies. You gave Poe Dameron butterflies just by looking so kriffin’ cute, sitting there next to him, your hands almost touching. If he moved just an inch to the left, he could hold your hand, feel your fingers intertwined with his. He could-</p><p>“Like the smell of the sea. The salt and the sand,” you hummed, breaking Poe from his thoughts, causing the tips of his ears to turn a subtle shade of pink when his fingers twitched towards yours. “Or that fresh scent after it rains, when steam starts to rise off hot stone. Smoke and ash.”</p><p>The last one made Poe flinch.</p><p>He knew your village had been burned to the ground by the First Order. He knew you had been the only one to survive, and that Leia had found you when you were only a child, small and afraid and covered in black soot.</p><p>But that wasn’t the memory smoke held, not for you. No, it reminded you of sitting around a bonfire with both of your parents, their faces blurry from years passed, but their essence, their memory — the comfort and the love their presence always brought only grew stronger as you grew older.</p><p>And Poe loved that for you, he did.</p><p>He just wished his mother’s memory brought that same feeling to his chest.</p><p>Instead, each time he thought of her, he was only reminded of what he’d lost, what he was fighting for — the same cause Shara had been beyond devoted to and had subsequently given her life for. A cause that had ripped her away far too soon, had left Poe motherless and Kes with a gaping hole in his chest that could never be filled.</p><p>And that was hard, beyond hard, because he knew Shara would be disappointed in him for thinking that way.</p><p>He tried so hard to honor his mother. Tried so hard to do the right thing in hopes of making her proud but it was just so damn hard sometimes. She’d want him to fight, would want all of his resentment and anger to be directed at the First Order but truth be told, he held some for the Resistance too and he knew that was so, so wrong.</p><p>The First Order stole so much from Poe. So much, but the Resistance only continued to take from him, too.</p><p>He could never sleep through the night anymore, could never walk very far without looking over his shoulder just to make sure he wasn’t being followed. It took away his freedom, the better life his parents had hoped for him. It would eventually take his life, just like it had taken his mother’s.</p><p>Like it had taken yours.</p><p>“You’re not even here anymore.”</p><p>Poe couldn’t look at your face, couldn’t bring himself to look away from your hand as he finally moved that last inch, expecting to reach out and feel your skin but his fingers only touched grass.</p><p>“You’re gone just like the rest of them.”</p><p>You stayed silent, and when Poe’s eyes finally fluttered up to your face, he found that you were also looking down at your hands.</p><p>He wondered if you missed the warmth as much as he did.</p><p>“I never even got the chance to tell you how I feel.”</p><p>He’d wanted to. So many times did he imagine walking you to your quarters at night, stealing a kiss when you least expected it. He’d thought about how you’d taste, whether or not you’d kiss him back or if you’d smack him hard across the cheek.</p><p>He’d never know.</p><p>“You didn’t answer my question.” He almost didn’t hear you speak, your words were so quiet, fading.</p><p>Poe laid back in the grass with a heavy sigh, refusing to take his eyes off of you, like you would disappear if he looked away for even a moment. He knew you were only a figment of his imagination, that he could conjure your image whenever and however he wanted, but it wasn’t something he was willing to risk just then.</p><p>He needed you. He wanted to hang on, hold onto you for as long as he possibly could, and he refused to let his focus waver, refused to lose you all over again.</p><p>Maybe that was the real reason he wasn’t sleeping.</p><p>“Do I ever smell something that reminds me of home?”</p><p>You nodded, picking another blade of grass, tying it in a knot over and over again. You always liked to fidget.</p><p>Dirt, rain, freshly brewed caf — they were all scents that never failed to bring him home, always put him straight back on Yavin no matter how far he wandered.</p><p>But Yavin wasn’t home.</p><p>When Poe thought of home, he thought of the smell of the sea. The salt and the sand. That fresh scent after it rains, when steam starts to rise off hot stone.</p><p>Smoke and ash.</p><p>He flinched again, the memory of an explosion still so vivid in his mind.</p><p>But he supposed it was only fitting for you to be taken out the same way you were pulled in.</p><p>“Poe-”</p><p>“Sorry, sorry,” he sighed, shaking his head as if the simple action would actually work to clear his mind.</p><p>Did he ever smell something that reminded him of home?</p><p>“Not anymore.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was supposed to be happy, but...shit happened. remember to leave a comment or a kudos&lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>